


Tragedy Dancer

by NovaeLuna



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Gold & Silver & Crystal | Pokemon Gold Silver Crystal Versions
Genre: Angst, Emotionless Kris, F/M, Heavy Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Oh My God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:11:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaeLuna/pseuds/NovaeLuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it the allure of romance that makes her stay, or is it the knife-twisting pain that is becoming of heartbreak instead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tragedy Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHH THIS IS MY FAVOURITE SHIP IN POKEMON DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON IT AHHHHHHHHH
> 
> ah, but okay, I had some other works in different fandoms but I somehow messed up and deleted them all? And their drafts too? Like how did I even mess up that badly????

It's a dark, silent night for her in the rather plain bedroom, the moon faintly obscured by thin, wispy clouds in the stratosphere. 

She'll be swirling a cup of apology wine given to her, when Gold will call her up asking her if she knows who he's just found inebriated on the side of the road. She'll sigh, not knowing what to do or when to do it, or if even if something needs to be done, but she'll still respond despondently like she's always been doing. She'll twirl the phone cord around with her slightly chubby fingers, feeling the way the cool strand gradually turns squeamishly warm without warning, and grimacing when it becomes too warm for her to handle. It'll hang silently in the air, casting a looming shadow over empty frame cases and torn up papers.

Well, it's something she's used to, getting the call at midnight; although she'll never get used to the feeling that surrounds her whenever it does come.

Kris isn't sure she wants to. It's probably the last bit of feeling she can recognize, although there's something in the way it all happens that makes her just want to break down and soak it all in.

Sorrow is the only emotion she can identify, which is the problem that's been making her down glasses and glasses of both cheap and expensive wines, chugging vodka and rum and whiskey in order to try and vomit out some emotions. This bottle of wine that's hanging loosely from her hand is an apology from Silver, from the last time he did something like this, although he's so rich that he'd probably be able to buy land the distance to the moon and back before even creating a dent in that designer bag he'll tote around in his various rendezvous. 

Silver'll surely come crawling back to her again at ten past two, pale face slightly flushed as he drapes himself onto her doorstep, faint raspy voice repeating over and over again, "Kris, Kris, Kris". And she'll bend down slowly, tilting her head to examine just how far-gone her lover is, before kissing him gently on the forehead without any real intentions.

Gold'll tell her- has told her- to stop dating Silver, that Silver'll drag her down with him one day, no matter how much Silver swears to love her.

But the thing is, she's not sure why she stays with Silver.

Or rather, she's not sure she can accept it. It's a bit too farfetched for her to believe, but there's a tugging in her heart and this tiny voice echoing in her mind screaming that she does know the answer and that there is something wrong with her and that she really should just believe it all-

But as she carries the intoxicated boy up the stairs, his thin frame banging against the steps with each calculated movement she makes, she only notices how he always stares at her with a longing in his eyes. It's extremely unnerving for her, seeing how passionate the boy feels for her; but against all logic, he still goes and stays unfaithful to her, often coming home with strange, floral perfume on his clothes and bits of too-tan foundation probably smeared onto his face in his one night throws.

Kris doesn't wear makeup. And she never will.

Still, she can't help but have a heavy heart as she opens the door to her guest room- the air's slightly musty since the last time he'd visited was a month ago- and she lowers him onto the bed, not bothering to brush away stray burgundy hair strands dusting his eyelids. She moves to open a window.

She's in love with him. That's probably true.

But there's something in her that just breaks whenever she realizes how much torment she suffers whenever he goes and does what he does best, something that she'd never feel any other way, and the urge to feel that once again is overwhelming. It's intoxicating. It's perfect. Yet it's inhumane.

She's not sure; or maybe, not wanting to accept the idea, but there are some nights where she cradles the 86 proof bottle close to her, wondering to herself whether or not she really was in love.

Is it romance that she's in love with, or is it the tragedy that comes after that tends to her heart?

She'll stand there, at the window, waiting for something to happen, because this is another thing that always happens but she'll never be prepared for-

And then Silver, from behind her back, will say something in his delirious state.

"Do I have to do something like this to keep you?"

And then he'll fall against the headboard of the bed, head thudding against the hard wood, before she'll start to cry.

Every single time, he does this because she's a twisted person who only stays for the sorrow and no other thing can allure her. And he's just a miserable, but perfect guy who she's dragged along with her, playing his poor heart knowingly. And he's alright with it.

Just to make her stay.

So every time, she drinks some wine as an apology to him, sitting by herself in her bedroom, devoid of expression.

And when she'll hear his feeble call for her, she'll ignore it, and revel in the pain that she feels because she's brought him down again. He'll leave before she awakes from her alcohol-induced slumber, emotions tormenting her throughout her dream, twisting her heart in ways that only happen with him. And sure, they'll reconcile; and it breaks her heart in such a way that she hates yet loves messing with him yet again, and although he knows he's being played like a fool, he still dances along to her insane tune until one of them messes up and ends the dance momentarily.

He'll be back one day, arriving at her doorsteps, drunk and tormented ten after two.


End file.
